"Ah! but you couldn't hoist me up too. The _Canny Scotia_ would go
down; that would be more of my luck."
"Well, but I've thought of a plan. I have torpedoes on board. I'll
have a go at this ice, anyhow."
"Make a kind of harbour, you mean?" inquired Silas.
"That's it," was the reply.
"But," said Silas, still somewhat dubious, "you know the currents run
like mill-streams in under the ice. Well, suppose your torpedoes were
to be floated in under my ship, and went bursting off there?"
"Well, your ship would be hoisted," replied McBain; "that would be all."
"Ay!" said Silas, "that would be all; that would end all the luck, good
or bad."
"But there is no fear of any such accident. And now let us just have a
try at it."
Blowing up icebergs with torpedoes is by no means difficult, when you
know how to do it, but sometimes the current will shift the guiding-pole
or rope, and were it to get under the stern of the ship itself, it would
make it awkward for the Arctic explorers. In the present instance
everything went well, and berg after berg succumbed to the force of the
gun-cotton, until the last, when, by some mismanagement, one torpedo was
shifted right under a piece of ice on which stood, tools in hand, about
ten men, besides Silas, Rory, and Captain McBain himself. Of course it
was not likely that boy Rory was going to be far away when any fun was
going on, so that is why he happened to be on top of this identical berg
when the blowing-up took place. And here is precisely what was seen by
disinterested bystanders--a smother of snow and water and ice, mixed,
rising in shape of a rounded column over ten feet high, and, dimly
visible in the misty midst thereof, a minglement of hands and heads and
arms and legs. The sound accompanying the columnar rising was something
between a puff and a thud; I cannot better describe it. Then there was
a sudden collapse, and next moment the arms and the legs and the hands
and the heads were all seen sprawling and struggling in the frothy,
seething water below. It simply and purely looked as if they were all
being boiled alive in a huge cauldron. But the strangest part of the
story is to come. With the exception of a few trifling braises, not one
of those who were thus surprised by so sudden a rise in the world was a
bit the worse. The ducking in the cold sea was certainly far from
pleasant, but dry clothes and hot coffee soon put that to rights, and
they came up smiling again.
Freezing Powders, who was on deck at the time of the accident, was
dreadfully frightened, and ran down below instantly to report matters to
his favourite.
"What's the row? What's the row? What's the row?" cried the bird as
the boy entered the saloon.
"Don't talk so fast, Cockie, and I'll tell you," said Freezing Powders,
sinking down on the deck with one arm on the cage. "I tink I'se all
right at present, though my breaf is all frightened out of my body, and
I must look 'bout as pale as you, Cockie."
"De-ah me!" said Cockie.
"But don't hang by de legs, Cockie. When you wants a mouf-ful of hemp
just hop down for it, else de blood all run to your poor head, den you
die in a fit?"
"Poor de-ah Cockie! Pretty old Cockie!" said the bird, in mournful
tones.
"And now I got my breaf again, I try to 'splain to you what am de row.
De drefful world round de ship is all white, Cockie, and to-day dey has
commenced blowing it up, and jus' now, Cockie, dey has commenced to blow
derselves up?"
"De-ah me!" from Cockie.
"Dat am quite true, Cockie, and de heads and de legs am flying about in
all directions! It is too drefful to behold!"
"Now then, young Roley Poley!" cried Peter, entering at that moment,
"toddle away forward for some boiling-hot coffee, and run quicker than
ever you ran in your life."
"I'se off like a bird!" said Freezing Powders, darting out of the cabin
as if there had been a boot after him.